Playing By The Rules
by Lumos Bombarda
Summary: When 16 year old Briar Oakroot and her brother Chester are chosen as District 11's tributes in the 62nd Hunger Games, she vows that one of them will make it home safe. But the other tributes are just as determined, and when you play, you play to win.
1. The Reaping

**Summary: **When Briar Oakroot and her brother Chester are chosen as District 11's tributes in the 62nd Games, she vows that one of them will make it home. But the other tributes are just as determined, and when you play, you play to win.

**Rating:** T for now.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games or any of its canon characters, however, the majority of the characters in this fic are original.

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Chapter One  
The Reaping

It's still dark when I wake up. Outside in the orchard, even the birds haven't started chirping yet. Today is one of the only days of the year we're allowed to sleep in, but I'm up long before dawn anyway. How anyone could sleep peacefully on Reaping Day is beyond me.

I slip out of bed and dress as quietly as I can—just because I couldn't get any sleep doesn't mean my brothers won't be able to, and they deserve all the rest they can get. It's Chester's last year in the reaping ball. After today, he'll be able to sleep soundly, knowing that he'll never have to go into the arena. But for little Bracken, the nightmare is only just beginning. He's twelve, so this is his first year. I remember my first reaping—I cried all the way through the ceremony, even after some other girl got chosen and I knew it wasn't me, just like Chester promised it wouldn't be. Even now, at sixteen, the thought of my name being called almost reduces me to tears. I look at Bracken, tiny and angelic, clinging to Chester's broad form like a limpet, and I let them sleep.

In the kitchen, I slice up an apple for my breakfast. We have an almost never-ending supply of apples, since we all work in the orchard. They pay us in trade—fruits and vegetables and grain, mostly, which at least means that we don't have to take any tesserae. During harvest season we are always well fed, to increase our productivity. It gets harder in winter, when the Peacekeepers strip our rations back to the bare minimum. Every grain counts once the cold weather sets in, and they can hardly waste food on us lowly workers when they need to ship everything off to the Capitol. Farming the fields is torturous on an empty stomach. It's near impossible to sow when you can barely stand, but we have all learnt to grin and bear it. The alternative is to steal, and if you steal, you get shot. This is a lesson my family learnt the hard way, and the reason there will be no one to pick out a dress for me or braid my hair this afternoon. This is the reason I have learnt to suffer in silence rather than break the rules. Rules must never be broken.

"Briar, you're up early." My father sits down beside me, dragging the chair across the kitchen floorboards.

I wince at the noise, thinking of my sleeping siblings. I want to tell him to keep his voice down, to let Chester and Bracken sleep, but that would be breaking a rule too. Father is very strict when it comes to his children showing him respect.

"Good morning, Father," I say quietly.

He frowns. "Not worrying about the ceremony, are you?"

"No." I almost choke on the slice of apple I'm eating. Of course I'm worrying, how could I not be?

"It won't be you," he says. He sounds so certain, as if any other outcome is unthinkable.

"I know." The lump of apple mush sticks in my throat.

He coughs, visibly uncomfortable. Pep talks are not his forte. "Four years, and it's never been you. Six years, Chester's had his name in there, and it's never been him, either. So don't even worry about it."

"I won't." I try to smile, more for his sake than mine.

Then he pats my shoulder, hands trembling, and gets up to make his own breakfast. This is the closest we ever get to familial love, my father and me. Since my mother's death, he has stopped displaying emotions or expressing opinions. Work hard, do as you're told, and don't dwell on things you can't change. These are the lessons he instils in us, and really, these are all we need to get through life. Yet I still long for the soft embrace and encouraging smile that only my mother could give.

Despite my best efforts at silence, it isn't long before Bracken and Chester rouse from their beds and join us in the kitchen, scruffy-haired and sleepless.

"Good morning, boys," Father says, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Morning," Bracken mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Father eyes them. "You two aren't worrying as well, are you?"

I grimace. Well, maybe we wouldn't if he just stopped reminding us every other minute.

"Nah, of course not," Chester says. He sits down beside me and steals a slice of apple from my plate.

"Get your own!" I protest. He winks playfully and takes a large bite.

"Good," Father says with a nod. "Because there's nothing to worry about." He nods again. For all the confidence he tries to project, I think he's the one who needs convincing, not us.

Bracken takes a seat at the table, head bowed. There's no doubt about what's on his mind. What's on all of our minds, no matter how much we might pretend it isn't.

"Cheer up, little man." Chester ruffles Bracken's messy black hair. "We've got the whole day off. I'll take you down to the lake this afternoon, we can go fishing."

Bracken lifts his head, eyes wide and unblinking. "But what if..." His lip trembles. "What if I get chosen?"

Father slams the kettle down on the stove. "You won't."

"Don't be silly," Chester says instantly, putting an arm around him. "District 11 has hundreds of teenagers, the odds are well in our favour. You don't even need to think about it, okay?"

"It's just a ceremony," I add. "It doesn't affect us. It lasts an hour and then it's done." I pick up a slice of apple. "Just one hour, and then we can all get on with our lives."

But as much as I try to reassure my little brother, I can't do anything to reassure myself. When we're roped off into our sections, my eyes sting and my heart pummels my ribcage, same as every year. No matter how old I get, Reaping Day always reduces me to a quivering child. But at least the sniffles and muffled sobs of the other sixteen year old girls around me tell me that I'm not the only one.

The ceremony takes place in a grassy field, big enough to house the impromptu stage the Capitol workers constructed this morning, hundreds of twelve to eighteen year olds, plus crowds of other citizens on the sidelines. I don't have to look to know that the adults with children of reaping age will be praying and crossing their fingers, and even those who don't will wear expressions of guilt and distress. It is partly their fault that we're here. You see, because District 11 is so big, it would be impossible to put all the eligible children into the reaping ball, so the Capitol came to an agreement—only a small fragment of the true population will be in the running. Which area of the district these children come from depends on our agricultural output. In short, those who work the hardest can be exempt. Every year our section swears we'll work harder, that our children will be able to breathe easy, and yet every year we find ourselves lining up yet again, crossing our fingers and pleading the odds will be in our favour.

The Capitol workers are still setting up the sound equipment, so we must wait even longer before our minds can be put at rest. With each second that passes, I drive myself a little crazier. I make pacts in my mind—I'll work harder in the fields, I'll be more obedient, I'll be better. Just please don't reap me. Father always tells us not to worry, that it won't be us, but that's difficult to believe when Reaping Day actually arrives, and all you can think about is the huge glass ball on the stage that you know contains a slip of paper with your name on it. Four slips of paper, in my case. One for Bracken, and six for Chester. Eleven slips of paper is nothing against the hundreds that are in there. It won't be us. It won't be us.

"Welcome, District Eleven!" the Capitol representative shouts, and the microphone screeches. We all clasp our ears and grimace at the ringing.

She clears her throat. "Hello, and welcome to the Reaping of the Sixty-Second Annual Hunger Games!" she trills. "I am Lulu Daybreak, and I have the delightful privilege of being your host! Today we're going to find out which brave tributes District Eleven has to offer us, but first, let's watch the Capitol footage!"

The same old reel appears on the screen. A voiceover tells us about the rebellion, the Capitol, the foundation of the Hunger Games. There are lots of explosions and death shots, probably for dramatic effect. Everyone has seen it a thousand times, both in school and at the reapings every year. It has little impact now—we don't need reminding of why we're here, we just need it to be over with as quickly as possible.

The video ends, and with a giggle, Lulu Daybreak addresses us again, her awful sing-song voice making me feel sick to my stomach. "Alright, let's get started!"

She steps toward the first glass ball, and poses with her hands on her hips for the camera. "Firstly, we're going to find out which fantastic female is going to be representing District Eleven this year! What an exciting moment for you all!"

Any other time, I'd find Lulu's stupidity almost amusing, but as her hand fishes into the glass ball, I forget how to laugh, or smile, or even breathe. All I can do is dig my nails into my palms and try not to fall to pieces.

"And here we have her!" Lulu announces, beaming like a lunatic. "District Eleven's female tribute is..."

Tears blur my vision as the whole world spins. It can't be me, it's never been me. There are hundreds of us, the odds are in my favour. I play by the rules, I work hard, it can't be me. It can't.

And yet somehow, even before Lulu opens her mouth, I know that it is.

"Briar Oakroot!"


	2. Goodbyes

Chapter Two  
Goodbyes

Silence.

I don't breathe. I don't move a muscle. I am not here.

"Briar Oakroot!" she repeats, a little louder.

Heads turn and necks crane. The crowds look for a glimpse of the girl who has spared them for another year. Whispering begins, the hushed voices creeping under my skin, buzzing more than the microphone static.

I stare straight ahead, eyes unblinking. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, no one will notice me, and it won't be real.

"Where are you, dear? Come on up!"

They're getting impatient. I'll have to go up to the stage soon, reveal myself, accept my fate, and shake Lulu Daybreak's perfectly manicured hand. I can't hide forever. But I can't move, either.

"Briar Oakroot!" A different voice, harsh and deep. It's a male Peacekeeper, standing on the other side of the rope. They must be checking their files, working out that I am in the section of sixteen year old girls. They know I'm here. The game is up, and a new one begins. One that I don't want to be a part of, but nevertheless have been selected to play.

"I'm here," I say. The girls around me gasp. They step back to let me through, wincing away as if I might contaminate them with my cursed luck.

"Come on, let's go," the Peacekeeper mutters, hurrying me to the edge of the section. I duck under the rope, and they escort me up to the stage. All the whispering has stopped, and I know without looking that all eyes are on me.

"Excellent! Come on up, dear!" Lulu trills.

I start to climb up to the stage, but trip on the final step.

"Whoops, careful there!" Lulu giggles. "Can't have you getting knocked down before the Games even begin!"

In the Capitol, this might draw a laugh. Silly little tribute, she can barely walk straight! She's bound to be hilarious in the arena, probably dead on the first day, if she can even make it that long!

And just like that, my back straightens. I refuse to be a laughing stock, one of the weaklings who gets picked off within minutes of the gong sounding. _No._ I hold my head high and walk to the centre of the stage. My legs do not tremble.

"Welcome, Briar Oakroot!" Lulu announces. She shakes my hand delicately, probably not wanting to dirty her dainty porcelain limbs. I haven't washed today, my dark skin still muddy from yesterday's work, and I left my unruly black hair loose around my shoulders, rather than braided like most of the other girls. Once upon a time my mother might have done that for me, but left to my own devices, I didn't see the point. There was no way they would call my name, Father tells us this year after year. Yet here I am.

"Next, our male tribute!" Lulu trills, leaving me in the centre of the stage and walking toward the second glass bowl. Her long green nails snatch up a folded scrap of paper, and she returns to the microphone.

I only have a second to ponder who my male counterpart might be. Maybe I already know him from school or the orchard. Maybe he's a friend of mine. Or maybe he's a perfect stranger. I hope for the latter, since there's a chance I'll have to kill him.

Lulu unfolds the paper and beams at the camera before she speaks. "Bracken Oakroot!"

"No!" I shriek.

The audience breaks into hushed conversation again. The similarity of our names is not lost on them.

"Oh my, that's not your brother, is it?" Lulu asks me, brimming with excitement.

I stare up at her expectant face, smug, wide-eyed, and smothered in dark indigo make up. I want to punch her so hard my knuckles go purple to match her stupid colour scheme. With every word she says, she is slowly tearing my family apart.

"Yes," I say, my stomach clenching. I didn't think I could feel any more ill than I already do, but as Bracken emerges from the crowd, the urge to vomit over the side of the stage is overwhelming. My head spins, and I see three Brackens climb up the steps instead of one.

"Yes, come on up, dear," Lulu says, practically dancing with excitement. Two siblings going into the Games to fight against each other—I bet she and the rest of the Capitol can hardly believe their luck.

Bracken trips on the last step too, but I am there to catch him. I embrace him so tightly it would take an army to make me let go. He buries his face in my shoulder, not wanting the camera to see the tears I feel sinking through my shirt. My poor baby brother.

"No!"

I look up. The crowd separates again as someone else forces their way through. Chester.

"I volunteer!" he shouts, charging up on stage and embracing us both. In my state of shock, my grip slackens, and Chester takes this opportunity to seize Bracken up and carry him off the stage, planting him firmly on solid ground.

"You're not taking our little brother," he says decisively, climbing back up. Then he hugs me again, and this time I am the one who buries my face into his shoulder, scrunching my face up and trying not to let the tears escape.

"My, my, my!" Lulu exclaims. I had all but forgotten we were being watched. "What an exciting and emotional reaping this has been!" She giggles like a child. "So, District Eleven now has its two tributes, Briar Oakroot and Chester Oakroot!"

The crowd applauds. Chester's sacrifice will not go unrewarded. In a district with such large, tight-knit families, volunteering is not unheard of, but it doesn't happen often. I know that in our absence, my father and Bracken will be showered with spare food or extra rations, District 11's traditional way of celebrating such brave offspring. Not that our family will appreciate it much—rather a growling stomach than two dead kids, after all.

When Lulu finally manages to usher us to the Justice Building, I break down within seconds of the front doors slamming, and bawl like a baby. Chester keeps his arm around me and tells me everything will be okay, and Lulu just looks confused.

"There's no need to cry, Briar!" she says. "Being chosen as tribute is a great honour. You should be pleased that you got so lucky. You're going to be part of an amazing piece of history!"

Were it not for Chester's supportive grip, I might have lashed out and finally punched her right then. But that would probably get me arrested, and besides, I'm going to need her guidance once we get to the capitol, so I keep my hands to myself and my mouth shut.

Normally each tribute would be ushered into a separate room to say their goodbyes, but under the circumstances, Chester and I are allowed to stay together. Father and Bracken are led inside by two Peacekeepers, and it's all I can do not to fall straight into their arms.

"I'm so sorry," Bracken says, tears still streaming down his face. He has no need to pretend to be brave now. He's safe for another year, thanks to Chester's sacrifice.

"Hey, it's not your fault," Chester says, stooping down to his level. "I couldn't just sit there and do nothing, could I?" He ruffles Bracken's hair.

Father turns to me, but his eyes are unable to meet mine. "Briar, I... I'm sorry too."

"You weren't to know," I say, looking at the ground. "I guess the odds just weren't in our favour."

Tears glisten in his eyes as he reaches out to embrace all three of us. My family, together for the very last time.

"Okay, let's go." A group of Peacekeepers storm in, breaking up our moment. "The train is ready to leave."

Father pulls back, nods at each of us. He looks as though he has something meaningful or emotional to say, but, "Good luck, kids," is all he manages. I guess old habits die hard.

I share one last hug with Bracken, and then Chester and I are escorted out into the square. Since the ceremony in the field is over, most people will have returned to their homes with relief, grateful for another year to spend with their children, but a small crowd has gathered to wave us goodbye.

"Good luck!"

"You can do this!"

"We'll make sure your family have everything they need, okay?"

"You're both so brave!"

Hollers of support from neighbours, workmates, and friends from school (more Chester's than mine). People I will probably never see again, because no matter how brave I pretend to be, there is no way I could kill my own brother, and I'll be damned if I let anyone else do it instead. Chester will win these Games, and come back here a victor. He's the one everyone likes best, anyway. Dying for him would be the bravest thing I could possibly do.

He keeps his arm around me as we wave to our district. Then, taking one last breath of nostalgic summer air, we board the train to the Capitol.


	3. Strategies

Chapter Three  
Strategies

The train pulls away from the station before I've even found a place to sit. This one carriage alone is probably bigger than our entire house, and I can't help but gawk at all its finery. There is a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the glossy mahogany table shines when the light hits it. Silky green curtains drape over the windows, through which I catch a final glimpse of my home.

"Well, what do you think?" Lulu asks, clapping her hands together in excitement. "This must seem like a palace in comparison to what you're used to in District Eleven, am I right?"

"It's great," Chester says. "I'm glad to be here."

"What about you, Briar? Are you excited to see the Capitol?"

"Yes," I say, because I know this is the right answer. I plaster on a false smile and continue, "I can't wait. It all looks so glamorous on television."

Lulu beams approvingly. "Oh, you're both going to love it! You're incredibly lucky, you know. Most citizens of the twelve districts never get to visit the Capitol in their whole lives, and here you are, mere teenagers, getting to see what others can only dream of."

I wonder if she really believes that spiel or is just trying to stop us from wanting to hurl ourselves out of the moving train. If it's the latter, she's failing miserably.

"Ah, you must be the tributes!" Three strangers walk in, one man and two women, the door of the previous carriage slamming behind them. They all look at least thirty, maybe even forty, and bear the dark skin and large brown eyes that easily identify them as natives of District 11. It takes me a moment to place them—they're victors. Their Games probably aired when I was really little, but they still look vaguely familiar.

"Yeah. I'm Chester Oakroot, this is my sister Briar."

"Oh, my." One of the women walks toward us, arms outstretched. "Two siblings going into the arena together. That's awful."

The tallest of the three folds his arms over his broad chest. "Doesn't happen very often," he says, surveying us with narrowed eyes. "Unless one of you was a volunteer?"

Chester nods. "I volunteered for our younger brother. But it would've been two siblings either way, I guess."

"Very brave of you. The Capitol will like that," the male victor says, while the second woman pushes herself up onto the table, legs hanging over the edge. She doesn't say anything.

"We should introduce ourselves, you're probably too young to remember our Games," the first woman says, patting my shoulder. "I'm Conifer Lane. You can call me Connie."

"Walnut Sapwood." The tallest man slaps Chester on the back. It looks like it hurts, but Chester only flashes a friendly smile and holds out a hand for him to shake.

"My name is Risa Birch," the second woman says, crossing her legs as she perches on the table.

"Nice to meet you," I say politely, even though 'nice' is the last word I would use to describe this situation.

"Everyone sit down, and we can talk properly!" Lulu trills, pushing Chester and me around to the other side of the table. The three of us take a seat, while the victors sit across from us.

"So," Connie begins, drumming her fingers. "Risa, Walnut, and I are all previous victors of the Games. You'll have a chance to choose which of us will mentor you, but all three of us will oversee your time in the arena and try to get you as many sponsors as possible. So, maybe it would be best if you tell us a bit about yourselves first, so we can get an idea of what we're working with. Do you have any special skills?"

I shake my head sadly. I'm good at climbing trees, having worked in an orchard all my life, but that's hardly special. Anyone who lives near a forest could manage that, and most districts have woodlands somewhere.

"We're both fairly strong, and good at climbing," Chester offers. "And we know a lot about wild nuts and berries and stuff, so, maybe survival skills?"

Walnut nods. "That's a good start. Either of you any good with a weapon?"

I shake my head again. Chester is better at talking anyway.

"Not really. We use machetes in the cornfields sometimes, but nothing really offensive."

"That's fine," Connie says. "Maybe in your case a defensive strategy would be best. If you know how to survive in the wild, perhaps avoiding the Cornucopia and staying out of the other tributes' way until the very end would be best."

"Probably, yeah," Chester agrees.

"What about you, Briar?" Risa asks. Like me, she's been quiet throughout this conversation.

She meets my eyes, and gives me a look of silent support.

"Um, yes," I stumble. "Defensive is probably best. We don't know much about, um, attacking."

Walnut reaches for a glass of water. "Not a problem. As you're from District Eleven, the likelihood of you getting in with the Careers is slim to none anyway. And if you're not with them, you definitely don't want to go up against them."

"So we'll just focus on avoidance and survival, then, yes?" Connie says. "We'll try to keep you out of harm's way for as long as possible, and let the other tributes take each other out."

"Sounds good," Chester agrees.

"We can go into more detail about that later, we have plenty of time. Now, have you thought about your angles?"

"Angles?"

"You know, your personality, the way you're going to act. Getting people to like you, or at least respect you, is the best way to win sponsors," Connie explains. "So you both need to think about this seriously, whether you want to be portrayed as funny, mysterious, tough... the list goes on."

Walnut drums his fingers on the table. "As you're both from District Eleven, you already have the luck of being seen as underdogs. Although naturally it's easy for the Careers to get sponsors because they're the ones who usually win, often the viewers get bored of the same old districts winning again and again. So if you make an impression, stand out from the rest of the non-Career tributes, you might stand a fighting chance."

I swallow. This conversation is making me even more nervous than I already am. I had never given much thought to tactics or angles, assuming the tributes on television just went in as themselves and did their best. But clearly, there's a lot more to it than that. I'm overcome with a sudden urge to lay my head on the table and groan in despair, but that would be rude.

"Briar?" Risa prompts, her warm eyes meeting mine. "Have you thought about you might want to be portrayed?"

Why does she keep directing the questions at me? Chester is much better at holding a conversation. I know he can't exactly do my interview for me, but while we're both together I don't mind him speaking for both of us. I'm scared of getting everything wrong and messing up before the Games have even really begun.

My mouth is dry. "Um, I'm not sure," I say weakly. "Maybe just, you know, quiet."

The victors exchange glances. Clearly I'm not impressing them. "How do you mean?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, um, if they think that I'm quiet and weak and useless, they won't bother trying too hard to hunt me down and kill me. So maybe I could stay off their radar for a while."

Risa smiles. "Pretending to be a weakling, that's definitely a good idea. It's worked in the past, and as long as you keep up the pretence absolutely all the time, no one ever seems to suspect a thing. Excellent, Briar."

I blush. I had expected to be mocked, not complimented. It's nice that someone has a little faith in me.

"What about you, Chester?" Walnut asks.

"The same, maybe?" Chester suggests. "I don't know, I haven't really thought about it."

Connie scrunches up her face in distaste. "I'm not sure if you could pass for a weakling. You're too tall and broad-shouldered."

"You could go for friendly," says Walnut. "Confident and trustworthy. That might help you make some alliances, and if neither of you have any offensive skills, it might be good to get in with some others who do."

"I thought we were just supposed to be avoiding everyone else?" I ask, my voice catching in my throat. Running away and keeping to myself, I can do. Lying and befriending people I will later have to kill? I'm not sure I could manage that.

"It doesn't hurt to have a back-up plan in case your initial strategy doesn't work out," Connie says. "Some arenas don't allow any shelter, in which case you'll need some allies to stick with."

I think back to previous Games—not long ago there was an arena that was entirely flat, with nowhere to hide. That year only lasted a few days, though. Since everyone always knew where everyone else was, it was pretty easy for them to kill each other. It wasn't very entertaining, so hopefully the Gamemakers wouldn't do something like that again.

We discuss strategies and skills for another hour or so, then Lulu breaks up the conversation with a squeal of glee.

"I just got a message from the Capitol!" she tells us, holding up some fancy electronic device. "The other reapings are all over, so now we can watch the highlights!"

She leads the five of us into another compartment, one with a large screen and enormous squishy sofas. I want to sit by Chester, but Lulu plonks herself down between us, giggling like a child as she presses buttons on the remote. Televisions are few and far between back home. Generally we only need them to watch the Games or other Capitol propaganda, so they're shown on the large screen in the square or in classrooms at school. The contraption in here takes up an entire wall of the carriage, and makes my eyes sting as it flashes brightly to life.

"Isn't this exciting?" Lulu squeals. "You're about the get the very first glimpse of your opponents!"

My stomach churns. 'Exciting' is the very last word I would use. 'Terrifying' would be much more fitting.

"Now remember, some of them may be acting," Connie reminds us, curling up on the sofa she shares with the other two victors.

"Especially the Career districts," Walnut adds.

Connie nods. "Right. They've been trained their whole lives for these Games, so they know how to pull people's strings, be it through faking tears or what have you. So don't be fooled by any pretences, okay? Stay alert."

All we're doing is watching some television clips, yet I feel as though I'm about to go into the arena already.

Lulu fiddles with the remote. "Okay, here we go. This is District One's reaping!" She claps her hands in excitement.

I watch as the Capitol emblem appears on the screen, followed by scenic shots of District 1. It's smaller than 11, but about a thousand times more attractive. I think of home and wince. I miss it already.

A Capitol presenter mounts the stage, a man dressed even more flamboyantly than Lulu, though I wouldn't have thought it possible. "Welcome, everyone, to the reaping of the Sixty-Second Annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd of citizens break out into wild applause. Unlike most of us, the Career districts actually take pride in participating, and those anxious parents on the sidelines are praying that their children _will_ get chosen, not the other way around, as was the case with us.

The presenter gives the usual speeches, which are pretty much one and the same, and then reaps two tributes from the glass balls on the stage. Denim Tassel and Sequin Bellamy. Yikes, those districts give their kids some ridiculous names.

Denim mounts the stage as bravely as he can, but I can tell from his figure that he's not your average Career tribute. He's skinny and lacking in muscle, his pale blond hair hanging limply over his face. As he waves a weedy hand at the audience, he reminds me of a drooping dandelion.

Sequin takes a very different approach, sashaying up onto the stage with a spring in her step, beaming from ear to ear and practically bouncing with pride. She is what you might call "traditionally beautiful". She wears her hair loose, falling in golden ringlets around her shoulders. I can hardly take my eyes off her. How can someone who looks so angelic be a trained killer? Then I snap myself out of it, because chances are, she could be the one to kill _me_.

District 2's reaping recap introduces us to Maverick Goldsmith, a tough and burly boy of eighteen who pumps his fist into the air victoriously when his name is called, and embodies exactly what a Career should be. His female counterpart is called Silve. She's much smaller and more slender than him, but looks every bit as fearsome. She has a smug grin and cunning eyes, and I know straight away that she would have no trouble slitting a few throats.

The District 3 tributes are both lanky and solemn, and accept their fates with mournful expressions. I miss their names, but I don't suppose it matters. Without the proper apparatus to set mechanical traps, the electronic geeks of 3 rarely do very well. With their poor physical states, they'll probably be beaten to a pulp before they even leave their plates.

The male tribute from District 4 catches my attention—a tall, smouldering boy who I might find attractive, if he didn't snatch the microphone off the presenter and shout out that he preferred to be addressed by his nickname, "Hook". I grimace. That can hardly be a good sign.

Not many of the other tributes stick in my mind, but it's the Career tributes we'll need to look out for anyway. An alliance with some other districts would be useful, but Chester is the one who is good at making friends, so I'm sure he'll take care of that once we arrive at the training building.

Our own reaping rolls around, and I see my terrified face flash up on screen as my name is called. I didn't go up straight away—that will probably reflect badly on me. I look like a coward. Chester, however, redeems me when he volunteers for Bracken. Volunteers are always respected on principle, and add that to his incorrigibly friendly nature, and I think that maybe all hope is not lost. He can make some alliances, and I'll try to hang around long enough to watch his back.

Two scrawny children from District 12 are reaped, and then the anthem plays again.

"Wasn't that brilliant?" Lulu exclaims. "Have you thought about who you might want to team up with? I would definitely recommend Atticus and Carrie from Ten! They look strong, and with their background in livestock they'd be a real help. You know, it's been years since there were any proper animal opponents in the arena? I've heard rumours that this will be the year they make a reappearance!"

"They all look pretty impressive," says Walnut. "But don't rule anyone out. You never know, some of them might have unexpected skills, and it's not uncommon for people to pretend to be weaklings."

Chester nods. "We'll think about it."

"Yeah," I agree, because it saves having to come up with anything intelligent to say.

I let them carry on the conversation about alliances without me, because I know I'd be no good at creating one. Honestly, I don't think I'll be that good at anything, and seeing all those children on the screen, supposed enemies that I'll have to kill or see killed... it hits me hard.

Thankfully, nobody seems to notice how little I'm talking, and after a few hours of grimacing through discussions of weapons and strategies and allies, we're finally called to dinner. I hang back so that I can follow behind. I've never been one to lead a group.

Risa Birch waits with me, and catches my arm after everyone else has left the room. "Briar," she says, her face filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

She seems so genuine that I almost burst into tears right in front of her, but I try to keep my composure. "Yes," I mumble.

Risa smiles sadly and puts an arm around me. Her touch is warm and comforting. "I know this is hard for you, for all of us, but... you're strong and brave. You can get through this."

Then I really do start crying.

Risa closes the door of the carriage and sits me back down on the sofa. She rubs reassuring circles on my back as I sob and splutter my way through two packets of tissues.

"It's okay, it's okay," she says, until at last I am all cried out.

Then she puts her arm around me again and holds me close.

"I don't want to come back," I tell her finally. "I want Chester to win. He deserves it more. I don't want to die, but I don't want to come home knowing that he died for me to do it. He has to win, not me."

Risa nods. "I understand," she says. "I went in there with my best friend."

I blink the last remaining tears away and sit up straight. "What happened?" I ask, even though it's pretty obvious.

She takes a deep breath. "I killed him."

I gawp. "Oh, um, I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Don't be. It's all part of the game, after all. We were the last two left, and I did what I had to do to get home. He understood." She sounds like she has made her peace with her decision, but her eyes are glazed over as she stares into the distance.

"Do you think I'll have to kill Chester?" My voice hitches.

She closes her eyes for a moment before she speaks again. "Honestly, Briar? If you're in that situation, just bear in mind... it's not the kind of thing you can easily forget afterward."

Her honesty breaks my heart, yet it's still refreshing. This feels like the first time anyone has really acknowledged what it means to be reaped. It's not an honour to celebrated or a challenge you must face. Win or lose, it's a life sentence. The things that happen in that arena will never really leave you.

She squeezes my hand tightly, and I don't even have to think about it. I know without a doubt that I want Risa as my mentor.


End file.
